


all these songs of love

by somehowunbroken



Category: Men's Hockey RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Artists, Alternate Universe - Bands, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-06
Updated: 2019-07-06
Packaged: 2020-03-01 11:31:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,142
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18799480
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/somehowunbroken/pseuds/somehowunbroken
Summary: Dante's an aspiring musician, so he'll take whatever help he can get, including a boy in his dreams who helps him write his music. Everything's going fine until he looks up during a show and sees that boy in the crowd.





	all these songs of love

**Author's Note:**

  * In response to a prompt by [dejas](https://archiveofourown.org/users/dejas/pseuds/dejas) in the [PuckingRare2019](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/PuckingRare2019) collection. 



> **prompt:**  
>  Soulmates AU.  
> Dante is an aspiring musician and can only write music when it comes to him in his sleep. His muse is someone he's never met before, someone he only has a vague mental picture of. He's not particularly well known and he doesn't quite have enough money for a tour, so he plays random gigs around Vancouver hoping that one day he'll actually be able to do so. One particular gig, he looks into the audience and sees Tyson, instantly knowing that's his muse.
> 
> -ahhhh this was so much fun to write!!!!
> 
> -title is from reina del cid's "[wonder](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=UTph9UoxrWU)," which is incredibly sweet and fits this situation perfectly.

Dante calls him Music Boy.

But, like, only in his head, because he's met his own friends and family, and he knows the kind of mocking that would come with admitting that he's got a muse, and that it's someone he's never met, and that the only things Dante really knows about him are that he has a messy head of curls and a bright, loud laugh and a smile that makes something like butterflies appear in Dante's stomach. It wouldn't be good, that's what he knows, so he lets everyone go on thinking that he writes his music by locking himself in his apartment for a week at a time, eating only pepperoni Bagel Bites, and emerging with something new to play at gigs after a tortured writing session or whatever.

It's not the least accurate assumption in the world. The Bagel Bites are accurate, at least.

The process is actually something a little more like this: Dante feels like there's something he should be writing about, some concept or feeling or whatever. He stews over it for a few hours, maybe the whole day, and then he goes to sleep. He has dreams like everybody else, but then he also has dreams that _aren't_ like everybody else, because suddenly he'll be walking down a street in a neighbourhood he's never been in, and Music Boy will be next to him, singing something that just _clicks_ for Dante, or humming a harmony when Dante sings out the melody line, or tapping a beat out against his thigh. When he wakes up, Dante remembers the music, and by the time he's got it written down, he's only got the barest memory of who the boy is.

The guy, whoever he is, basically _is_ Dante's music. It's not like he's writing odes to the smile of someone he's never met before, but Dante hasn't written a song without Music Boy's inspiration in his entire career, such that it is, and he's pretty sure he isn't going to start doing it now. And sure, yeah, Music Boy is probably just part of his deep inner artist's soul or whatever, but a process is a process, and this one has been getting him gigs, so he's gonna stick with it.

He's setting up for one of those gigs when Mat pokes his head backstage. "Yo, you ready? There's, like, people out there actually waiting for you to come out."

Dante rolls his eyes. Mat's one of his best friends, and he's the closest thing Dante has to a stage manager, but he's also a hot mess of a human. Dante loves him a lot, but seriously. "They're called fans," he says dryly. "I have a couple of them."

"News to me, bro," Mat says, grinning when Dante rolls his eyes again. "Whatever. Get your shit together, and make sure you don't forget your set list again."

"That was _one time_ ," Dante says with a sigh. "And you know I tape it to my guitar now."

"One time too many," Mat says, somehow managing to look serious as he shoots a single finger gun in Dante's direction. "There's at least fifty people out there, dude. Let's make this one a hit."

It's Mat's way of wishing him good luck, so Dante nods and looks down at his guitar. "Let me do a quick tune, and then I'll be out," he promises. "Thanks, Mat."

"You're welcome," Mat singsongs, disappearing back out to wherever he came from.

It takes less than two minutes for Dante to tune his guitar; he's still a local name in the music scene, but he's got perfect pitch and he's hoping that his songwriting is improving as he listens more and more to Music Boy, so hopefully playing small gigs like this will translate into bigger things for his future. He's got hopes, anyway, and he's got a guitar, and he's got Music Boy, and he's definitely stalling backstage by thinking about all of this right now. He has no idea why he's nervous here of all places; it's a bar he's played in half a dozen times before, and it's usually pretty chill, people into his stuff but not getting too crazy.

"Get your shit together," he mutters to himself, standing and stretching. He nods, then takes a deep breath and walks out onto stage.

He does a quick scan of the crowd as he sets up; it's really just him and his guitar, but he has to plug into the amp, make sure the mic stand hasn't adjusted itself since he did his pre-check, get himself situated, that kind of thing. It doesn't take him long, but he likes to check out who he's playing for as he gets ready. No matter what he'd said to Mat backstage, it really still kind of shocks him if he finds himself recognising someone from one gig to the next.

Nobody immediately jumps out at him, so Dante flashes a grin out at the people gathered and leans into the mic. "Hey, good evening," he says, picking at the strings of his guitar. "It's a nice night, eh? Let's make it even nicer."

He starts with "Five Steps," which Mat has informed him is the only song of his that comes close to being a bop (Mat's term, for sure). It's usually good to get a crowd going, and it does the trick this time, too; there are a few people who sing along to the chorus, and Dante does his best to memorise their faces without being, like, creepy about it. He transitions pretty seamlessly into "Out of Town" and then "Behind, Beside" without issue, and he's feeling pretty good about the set so far, all told.

He leans back into the mic when he wraps up the song; Mat has told him probably a hundred times to make sure he keeps his face pretty close to it, because for all that Dante has no trouble making himself heard when he's in his element, his speaking voice is kind of quiet. "So, I'm Dante, since I just realised I didn't say that at the start," he says. It gets a few chuckles from the crowd, which is what the line's for, so he grins and nods. "I've got a few more for you tonight, and if you like what you hear, I'd sure love to sell you a CD."

"Sign it for me," someone yells from the crowd.

"I can do that," Dante says, pointing in the vague direction of the voice. "I'll even date it for you, so you can say you saw me when I was still playing bars in Vancouver."

He hears Mat snort and turns so he can roll his eyes at him yet again, but when he turns his head, the world kind of—stops, right there, quits spinning entirely on it axis, and it steals the breath right out of Dante's chest. Mat's near the door, and there's a guy right behind him who clearly just came in from outside, tan coat still on and pink in his cheeks from the cold. He's in profile, not looking up at the stage, and Dante's never met him before, except for how he _has_ , because that's—that's Music Boy.

"Finish your set so these nice people can decide if they want to waste money on your CD," Mat yells. Dante glances at him, notices the concerned little crease between his eyebrows, and then looks back to Music Boy. He's still there, talking to someone a little shorter than he is, broad and dark-haired, and Dante can't _move_.

"Uh," he says, feeling like his voice is coming from somewhere else entirely as he stares. "I'm—yeah. Sorry, guys, sometimes I'm a space case."

The audience laughs again, but some of them are peering at the back of the bar now, clearly noticing that something has Dante's full attention. Music Boy is still talking to the dark-haired guy, gesturing at the bar, and Dante has no idea how to get him to turn, or even if that's a good idea. It takes pretty much all of his willpower, but Dante makes himself take a deep breath and adjust his capo so he can move into the next song. He's got no idea what it _is_ , though, and he panics for half a second before remembering that it's taped to the back of his guitar.

There's no smooth way to check it, so he just pulls the guitar away from his body a little and glances down, sees that "Birds and Clouds" is next, and does his best to remember what chords he's supposed to play for the first song he'd ever written. It's not something he ever thought he'd be able to forget, but his brain feels like it's fizzing, and he's never had this much trouble focusing on his music before, not even when he was fifteen and doing his first gig, two songs at his high school homecoming pep rally.

"Okay, sorry, I'm back," he says into the mic, not sure if that's true or not, but he's got to get through three more songs or he doesn't get paid, and the bar would probably think twice about booking him again. He keeps his eyes firmly locked on Mat, whose expression has gone from "lightly concerned" to "very worried" in a pretty short amount of time. He smiles as well as he can, then starts strumming at his guitar and singing.

Mat doesn't break eye contact, but he doesn't look any less concerned as Dante finds his voice and manages to make it through the song. He transitions into "Up Close and Far Away" and makes it through without issue, and then he has to break for some patter before his big finale, It's not like he sucks at the in-between, except for how he kind of sucks at the in-between, and it doesn't help that he's incredibly distracted. He makes himself keep his eyes on Mat as he says something that's probably too mechanical and doesn't have any heart in it, as Mat would say, but Mat looks like he's about three seconds away from dragging Dante off the stage and making him drink some sort of weird herbal tea until he looks better, so Dante's not gonna judge himself by any sort of Mat-meter right now.

"And I've got one more for you tonight," he finally says, already starting to strum the start of "No Ribbons." It's an old but good one, and Dante figures he knows it well enough to let himself glance over at where Music Boy had been just once before he plays his last song and escapes backstage to where Mat is probably going to be waiting to lovingly interrogate him about the clusterfuck of a show he's putting on right now.

Except when he moves his gaze away from Mat, a little back and a little to the right, he finds himself staring right into Music Boy's face, and—

He's beautiful, part of Dante's brain notes distantly. Even with the shocked expression on his face, the way he's clutching his friend's arm, Dante can tell that he's just—exactly his type and more, somehow. They're both kind of frozen, staring at each other, and Dante doesn't know how either one of them is ever going to get on with their lives at this point, because if Music Boy is feeling anything close to what Dante's feeling, there's just no way forward from right here and right now.

"Okay, sorry, I think we're calling it quits early tonight," Mat says from right beside Dante, leaning into the mic and laughing. It's kind of high-pitched, definitely fake, but it's better than the nothing Dante was putting out. "Man, I told him the sushi was questionable, but no, he had to have his salmon rolls. Sorry, folks. I'll be manning the merch table in a few minutes; let me just get this guy to a chair before he passes out or something."

There's some murmuring from the audience as Mat yanks the amp plug out of Dante's guitar and leads him offstage, but Dante tunes it out. He needs to get out there, needs to find Music Boy and see him for real, make sure he's more than a figment of Dante's imagination.

"Dude," Mat says when they're all the way offstage. "Dante, man, what in the _fuck_ —"

"Uh," someone says, and Dante turns and there he _is_ , wild curls taken straight out of Dante's dreams, eyes wide and almost frantic somehow. "I'm—look, this is going to sound crazy."

"Buddy, hey, this is not a good time," Mat says, stepping between Dante and Music Boy.

"Mat, wait," Dante says. There's something almost tangible in the air between him and Music Boy, and he can't help but feel like this is maybe the most important conversation he's ever had with anyone in his life. "Can you... can you give us a minute?"

"Uh," Mat says, clearly caught off guard. "Are you sure, man?"

"Yeah," Dante says. He forces himself to shoot Mat a smile. "Just a little while, I swear."

"You have five minutes," Mat decides. He turns to Music Boy and puffs himself up to his fullest height; he's go this hair fluffed up today instead of gelled down, so he actually almost looks impressive. "Don't try anything, got it?"

"Got it," Music Boy says.

Dante waits until Mat leaves before he says anything else. "You said there was something crazy."

Music Boy laughs, and it's much more uncertain than it is in Dante's dreams, but he'd still know it anywhere. "So my name's Tyson, and my buddy Alexander dragged me here to listen to this local musician he's been following," he says. He shifts a little, and that's when Dante notices that he's got a small book clutched in his hands. "And I've never heard your music or seen you before, but..."

He holds out the book, and Dante looks down at it. A sketchbook, he realises as his stomach jolts, and it's open to a drawing of him in profile, one curl dangling down over his forehead and a smile on his face. He glances back up at Tyson, whose face is red, and then back down as he flips the page. It's charcoal this time, and Dante's looking down and grinning at something that's not drawn in. He knows it's his guitar without it being there in the drawing, and he only realises his hands are shaking when he reaches out to touch the edge of the sketchbook.

"You help me write music," Dante says, feeling like his voice is about to crack. "You—you hum lines, or you help me with wording, or you figure out rhythms with me."

"I can't sing," Tyson says, voice sounding just as unsteady as Dante feels. "But you let me sketch you while you're writing music, and I—your last song, the one you didn't play. It's called 'No Ribbons,' isn't it."

Dante nods, doesn't know how to do much else as Tyson hums a few bars. "It's the first song you helped me with. The first song I ever finished that wasn't awful."

"I drive all my instructors crazy, because I can't draw a still life if it's right in front of me, but I can draw your face perfectly every single time," Tyson says. "This is crazy, right?"

Soulmates, Dante knows, are a one in a million thing. They're incredibly rare; not quite the stuff of fantasy, but definitely the kind of stuff that's more common in romcoms than in real life. It's definitely not something Dante has ever thought he'd find, but now he can't shake the thought, the feeling in his chest. "Do you think," he asks.

Tyson sticks his hand out. "I don't know anything, man, except that I think I might combust if I don't hold your hand soon."

Dante doesn't hesitate to reach out and take it.

As soon as their hands touch, it's like a torrent of information swirls in Dante's mind, memory and emotion and fact all combining and falling into the place that Music Boy has inhabited in him for as long as he can remember. It's like a breath of fresh air after being cooped up inside for too long, like coming home after a really successful show and collapsing in a comfortable heap on his bed, like everything finally settling into place like it should have been all along.

"Oh," Tyson says, and Dante's reaching for him as Tyson steps closer and puts his hands on Dante's hips, and neither one of them leans in first but they're kissing anyway, Dante tilting his head down a little as Tyson tilts his head back to meet him, and it's—perfect, Dante thinks, sinking into it. A perfect chord, strummed just at the right time, reverberating around them in the cramped room off of the stage.

"Not crazy," Dante says, pulling back to rest his forehead against Tyson's. "Just really, really lucky, I think."

"I think you're right," Tyson says, smiling up at him, and for all that Dante's seen that smile dozen and dozens of times in his dreams, it's nothing to seeing it in real life, blooming across Tyson's face and radiating his happiness.

"First time for everything," Dante murmurs.

Tyson laughs. "You should write a song," he suggests, skin around his eyes crinkling with the force of his smile.

"Maybe I will," Dante replies, smiling back. He starts swaying them back and forth slightly. " _First time for everything, now I know..._ "

"You know what," Dante hears, and he turns to find Mat and Tyson's friend—Alexander, he'd said, and Dante will absolutely ask for an introduction later, he will—staring at them. "I'm just gonna... go, I think."

"Thanks for bringing me to the bar," Tyson says, turning a little but not moving away from Dante. "I'll text you later."

"Don't catch anything," Alexander says sternly, then glances at Dante. "Don't give him anything."

"Romance is dead," Mat says, but he sounds more approving than anything else. "Dante, man, call me in the morning, okay?"

"'kay," Dante says. "Thanks, Mat."

"He's fucking weird, but he's a good guy," Mat says, clearly talking to Alexander. "Your buddy will be fine."

"Same," Alexander says as they walk back out of the room. "I'm guessing we have nothing to worry about here."

Tyson laughs quietly. "Hey, so," he says. "Want to hear something really corny?"

Dante laughs. "Go for it."

"I can't wait to see the kinds of things we'll make together," Tyson says, blunt and honest and smiling as he says it. "I think it's going to be amazing."

"You know what?" Dante says, smiling back at him. "I think you're absolutely right."

**Author's Note:**

> -the tyson POV of this includes a lot of sketchbooks with different facial angles of the boy with the eyebrows, and a lot of kerfy and JT trying to introduce him to a real-life person who might inspire him half as much. it's why kerfy drags him to the bar in the first place.
> 
> -follow me on twitter, but let me know who you are! i don't accept random follow requests.


End file.
